


Listen

by bendingsignpost



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Communication, Creepy Fluff, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s important you pay attention to what I'm saying. Sometimes, you don’t.”</p>
<p>Cecil’s eyes never leave Carlos’ face. “I always pay attention to you. Always.”</p>
<p>(Spoilers for Episode 25: One Year Later)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen

Carlos pumps the soap dispenser and leans away from the hovering cat and kittens. Water and pink foam slide over his hands before slipping down the drain with an audible and irregular thunking noise. The rough, brown paper towels scrape his palms, a comfort reminiscent of high school science labs. He breathes slowly as he dries his hands. The cat roars behind him. Carlos tosses the wet paper into the trashcan and squares his shoulders. His remaining bandages pull beneath his shirt.  
  
The restroom door creaks open under his fingertips. It groans closed behind him. Carlos leans against the wall until the lack of noise can’t be trusted. He stands against the other wall, its thrum bleeding into his back.  
  
Down the hall, the radio studio door opens. A man steps through it, turns toward the stairwell, and promptly spins back around like a ragdoll’s best impression of a top. Momentum carries him as he orients on Carlos. He fidgets in the air rather than stands.  
  
“Cecil,” Carlos says.  
  
Cecil slumps into the sound of his name the way Carlos might into a deep couch. “Carlos, hiiiiii,” Cecil says, stretching out the “i” into its own alphabet. “I, um. Hi.” He clears his throat. “Hi there, Carlos. Is there something… science-y going on?”  
  
“Sort of,” Carlos says.  
  
“Oh.” Cecil deflates. “Um, yeah, I just finished the show, so whatever it is, it’s going to have to go out tomorrow... sorry.”  
  
“That’s fine. It’s not about the radio.” Carlos shifts to the side as a wild-eyed intern scurries past without looking at them.  
  
“Oh?” Cecil perks himself back up. His overly alert eyes study Carlos’ face. His arms try to tuck his hands out of the way. He weaves his fingers together and holds his hands over his waist like a seatbelt of bone and flesh.  
  
Carlos nods. “About, um. Parameters.”  
  
“Uh-huh?”  
  
“Yeah…” He presses against the thrumming wall as the intern scurries back from whence she came. “Is there somewhere we could talk?” Then, after Cecil’s face lights up but before Cecil can say anything, Carlos adds, “For a discussion about parameters.”  
  
“Uh-huh. Yeah! Yeah, we can—yes.” Cecil points past the restrooms and sets off behind his index finger. “The break area is right over there. We could have coffee? Do you want coffee? We could have some. I mean, if you wanted. We could do that.”  
  
“I don’t think it’s a good time for caffeine right now.”  
  
“Oh? Is it turning tongues purple again?”  
  
Carlos shakes his head and follows Cecil inside. Cecil draws a glass of water from the kitchenette sink and Carlos sits on the less furry of the two couches. He pats the cushion beside him. In sitting, Cecil nearly spills his water on both of them.  
  
“Tired throat?” Carlos asks.  
  
“A little.” Cecil beams at him. “You’re so sweet.”  
  
“If it’s not a good time to talk, we can do this later.”  
  
“Now is a  _wonderful_ time. I’ve had a full day of talking, I can’t just stop without winding down, now, can I?”  
  
“Okay,” Carlos says. “Good.” He shifts, his back against the couch’s arm. His knee brushes Cecil’s leg, and Cecil comes close to choking on his water. “If we’re going to continue in this vein, I want to—I need to—establish parameters.”  
  
Cecil holds the glass in his lap. His interwoven fingers lock together. “Uh-huh? For...?”  
  
Carlos bumps Cecil a second time with his knee.  
  
Cecil’s eyes widen, eyelids fully lifted, pupils dilating. Only his irises retain their size. “ _Oh_.” His mouth expands into a grin. “So, uh.  _Parameters_.”  
  
“Yes. It’s important you pay attention. Sometimes, you don’t.”  
  
Shaking his head, Cecil tosses the glass aside. It falls to the floor, collapses into a puddle, and sinks through the carpet. Cecil’s eyes never leave Carlos’ face. “I always pay attention to you. Always.”  
  
The hairs on Carlos’ nape rise. “But you don’t always give weight to what I’m saying. Like when I tell you about danger toward Night Vale.”  
  
Cecil smiles, his eyes crinkling. “I love how you still think that’s breaking news.”  
  
“Cecil,” Carlos begins. He stops. “What  _would_ be breaking news?”  
  
Cecil’s shoulders bob in a quick shrug. “Crime, traffic, local events, whatever station management would destroy us for not reporting, that kind of thing.”  
  
“You’re that desensitized to it?”  
  
“To what? Station management?”  
  
Carlos shakes his head. “Resuming my earlier point,” he says. “It’s, uh. This is an important conversation. For us.”  
  
“‘Us,’” Cecil echoes.  
  
“Yes. In the future, when I say something is important, I need you to believe me.”  
  
A frown, a wrinkled brow. “Is this about  _mountains_ again?”  
  
“Mountains are perfectly real. When tectonic plates—we’re getting sidetracked. This is about  _how_ we interact, not what we interact over.”  
  
“Okay...”  
  
“Let me phrase it this way: it’s okay if you don’t believe what I’m talking about—I don’t believe a lot of the things you talk about, so that’s fair—but I need you to trust that I can make my own decisions.”  
  
Cecil’s face clouds, a malaise much more similar to a grey morning fog than the Glow Cloud. His unblinking gaze slips to Carlos’ chest.  
  
Carlos ducks his head, forcing Cecil’s eyes back to his. “That was in the line of scientific enquiry. If I didn’t inquire, I wouldn’t be here.”  
  
“I know,” Cecil says. For the first time, his voice sounds hoarse.  
  
Carlos takes his hand. A pause, and they both look down at the point of contact. With a slow motion, the sort devised to avoid scaring wild animals, Cecil threads their fingers together. Carlos’ arm prickles as the hairs stand beneath his sleeve.  
  
“I meant other kinds of decisions,” Carlos says. “Like deciding to get a haircut.”  
  
Cecil stares, eyes wild, mouth gaping. He relaxes only an instant when Carlos squeezes his hand.  
  
“I did  _decide_ to get that haircut. It turned out terribly, but I wanted a haircut and I got one.”  
  
“That was a very trying time,” Cecil replies, “and I for one am trying to move on.”  
  
“You drove a man out of town.”  
  
Cecil meets his gaze without hesitation. He tilts his head to the side as silence stretches between them.  
  
“Cecil, you can’t do that.”  
  
“If I can’t do that,” Cecil says slowly, “how did I manage to do it anyway?”  
  
“It’s not good,” Carlos says once his mouth will move again. Cecil holds his hand too tightly to pull away. “Morally, it’s not something you can...”  
  
Cecil watches, eyes attentive, mouth uncertain.  
  
Carlos clears his throat. “Why did you decide to do that?”  
  
“He performed an act of vandalism on your head—”  
  
“No, why did you decide to do  _that_?”  
  
“Oh.” Cecil frowns at the carpet. He prods a piece of it into a ball with his feet. “The radio is what I’m good at.”  
  
“Compared to what, exactly?”  
  
Cecil withdraws his hand. He wraps his arms around his middle. “I’m just... I’m  _bad_ at it, okay? Not everyone is cut out to be a vigilante. My aim is terrible and I’m  _loud_ , and it has never gone well, not even when I was helping my parents. The radio worked, didn’t it? Was it not enough?”  
  
“Cecil, that—no, Cecil, that’s not—Cecil, no. No. By any stroke of the imagination, that was  _more_ than enough.”  
  
Cecil heaves a sigh. “Oh, good!”  
  
“No, I—” Carlos groans. “Look. Where I’m from, we don’t drive people into the desert over bad haircuts.”  
  
“Of course, you drive them into the  _mountains_.”  
  
“No,” Carlos says, not to be stopped here by a flirtatious grin. “No, we don’t. We just… don’t go back. We find a new barber. No exiling, no driving people mad, none of that.”  
  
Cecil’s expression freezes. He leans in. His hands find Carlos’ arm. “You’re allowed to stand up for yourself, Carlos. You have that right.”  
  
Carlos closes his eyes. He opens them again. Afterward, Cecil is still serious.  
  
“It’s okay,” Cecil adds. His voice lowers into a sleek, prowling creature that cares not for locks or keys or the flimsy shelter of a concrete wall. “You don’t have to put up with that kind of thing in Night Vale.” Without warning, the shadow lion becomes a bumbling kitten. “I thought you were too busy with science things to act, I didn’t realize it was so bad, I am  _so. Sorry_. I’m going to kick myself all the way home. I’m here for you, I will  _always_ be here for you. If you need someone to speak up for you, I am more than qualified, and I will, just say the word. I—” Cecil swallows. “You’re touching my face.”  
  
“Yes,” Carlos confirms, Cecil’s head secure between his palms. “Are you listening?”  
  
“Uh-huh…”  
  
“What would you do if I cut my hair myself and it turned out terribly?”  
  
Cecil’s eyes widen to unprecedented levels. It stretches the realm of anatomical possibility.  
  
Carlos adds, “What if I let  _you_ cut my hair and it turned out terribly? Would you run off into the desert?”  
  
“What if we agree to never do any of that?” Cecil counters. “That is a very sound plan, do you like it?”  
  
“I want a different plan.” Carlos quiets Cecil’s protest with a synchronized brush of thumbs over cheeks. “I want a plan where no one is killed or exiled or hurt over me. I also want a plan for, well. For not being perfect.”  
  
“But you  _are_ perfect.”  
  
Carlos shakes his head and lowers his hands. “Perfect is impossible. It’s infinity. It’s an upper limit you can approach but never cross.”  
  
“Uh-huh. What does it look like the other way?”  
  
“What other way?”  
  
“If it’s the limit when you’re going up,” Cecil asks, “what is it when you’re coming down?”  
  
“…First off,” Carlos replies, “we are going over basic graphs in the near future. Second, it’s impossible to reach. It’s not real. It doesn’t actually happen.”  
  
Cecil merely smiles. “Time’s not real, but we’ve still had today.”  
  
“You’re still not listening to me, are you?”  
  
“You don’t want anyone punished when they harm you, and you don’t think you’re perfect. I’m listening. I’m just concerned.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Carlos says. “My hair’s grown back. My injuries are healing. I’m fine, Cecil. This isn’t about me. It’s...”  
  
“Uh-huh…?”  
  
Carlos blinks at him. “It’s about  _you_.”  
  
 _Me?_  Cecil mouths, touching his fingertips over where Carlos sorely hopes his heart is.  
  
“Yes. You. When I needed to contact the mayor, did I call you?”  
  
Cecil nods.  
  
“When I need someone to spread my discoveries or gather information, do I call you?”  
  
More nodding.  
  
“When I nearly died, did I call you? Immediately after?”  
  
Eyes shining, Cecil nods.  
  
“I promise, I will tell you when I need help. As long as you promise to wait until I ask.”  
  
Cecil bites his lip. “Even if you don’t think you deserve retribution?”  
  
Logic has failed. Morals have failed. Every semblance of typical reasoning has failed. All other options exhausted, Carlos utters the corniest statement of his life. “I think I deserve what makes me happy.”  
  
Cecil stares at him blankly.  
  
Carlos taps him on the chest.  
  
The noise Cecil makes is not human, but it is a very pleasant sound. It lasts perhaps thirty seconds longer than necessary.  
  
“If, well,” Carlos adds. “If I ever stopped being, um. ‘Perfect.’ To you. Because people don’t actually stay perfect when they get to know each other and we still don’t know each other very well. Do you understand what I’m saying?”  
  
“You want to get to know me better, but you’re nervous. Sweet Carlos, you don’t need to be.”  
  
“Things happen in Night Vale. You know that more than anyone. If, say, something happened and I wasn’t ‘perfect’ anymore. If, I don’t know, I rapidly aged and my teeth and hair fell out. How would you react?”  
  
Cecil’s brow furrows, creases riding his skin over the waves of his eyebrows. “You mean, if you became someone else.”  
  
“If I was still me, just old, bald and toothless.”  
  
Hands performing some sort of visual demonstration of his thought process, Cecil takes a minute to answer. “Okay, I give up. How would that stop you from being perfect?”  
  
Carlos blinks.  
  
“Is this a trick question?” Cecil asks. “Is that what’s going on?  _Carlos_.”  
  
“No, it... I think that might be the correct answer. I’m not sure yet. I need time to think this over. And I’d like you to think over helping me only when I want help, in the ways I ask for it. Will you do that?”  
  
“Of course,” Cecil says. “You are, after all, asking me to help in this particular way. See? I  _listen_. Oh, oh! And if you want  _other_ parameters later, we can set those up to. But I’m not going ahead with that right now because you haven’t asked. I’m really good at this!”  
  
“ _When_  we need more parameters,” Carlos confirms.  
  
“‘We’...” Cecil’s eyes focus on a point beyond the far wall. Gradually, he blinks for the first time tonight. He lowers his head onto Carlos’ shoulder. “Are we a ‘we’ now? It’s just… I’d like that.”  
  
Carlos rests his cheek against Cecil’s hair. “I think we’re in the initial stages.” He reaches without looking and finds Cecil’s hand.  
  
“Uh-huh.” Cecil settles in. “When do I get to give you the trophy? It’s still here.”  
  
“We can get it on our way out.”  
  
“You’re so smart,” Cecil murmurs.  
  
Neither shifts. Neither stands. They sit side-by-side, pressed together in the calm of their own breathing. When the carpet begins to eat their shoes, they pull their feet up.  
  
“I like your socks,” Cecil says.  
  
Carlos hums. He holds tight to Cecil’s hand and says, for the very first time, “I like you.”


End file.
